Chapter One
Big Sur, California
More than ten years had passed since Ben Rafferty had left the Cincinnati suburb where he’d grown up, not the least bit sorry to leave behind the cold, snowy winters and mundane Midwestern existence that had been all he’d known since birth. Those sentiments were now strengthened tenfold as he walked a few more yards down the gravel road and was left both speechless and breathless by the sight he beheld.
This wasn’t his first trip to California – or even to the central coast – but Ben knew he’d never seen a vista quite like this one before. The view of the mighty Pacific Ocean as it crashed over jagged rocks, framed by majestic coastal cypress trees, was most definitely a one in a million sight. And a photo of this exact vista would make the perfect accompaniment to the article he was currently writing on traveling Highway One – which, in his well-traveled experiences, was the most beautiful stretch of road anywhere in the world.
He focused the camera that he’d never really gotten the hang of using – after all, he was a writer, not a photographer. But he’d taught himself, experimented, and muddled through the process over the past few years since he’d begun living the life of a nomad. With a view like the one in front of him right now, however, the pictures would practically take themselves.
Ben had only snapped half a dozen shots when the mildly amused feminine voice behind him announced lazily, “You do realize you’re trespassing, don’t you? And that the locals around these parts have been known to shoot at outsiders?”
He had been an accomplished writer since his pre-teen years, and was certainly familiar with the meanings of words like “poleaxed” and “gobsmacked” and “thunderstruck”. But he’d never once come close to actually experiencing any of those reactions until now – as he turned and stared at the girl who was unquestionably the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
The petite but curvy goddess was gazing back at him steadily, evidently not the tiniest bit intimidated by the fact that he had a good eight inches and probably seventy pounds on her. A corner of her full-lipped mouth was quirked up in amusement, and a dark blonde brow arched inquisitively as she waited – none too patiently – for his reply. Her long hair was wet, as though she’d recently been swimming, so he couldn’t determine the exact shade, but the eyes that were making an equally thorough inspection of his own face and body were a clear, deep green.
She was wearing a tiny pair of fringed denim cutoffs, her long legs tanned and toned, her small feet bare. But it was the navy polka dot bikini top that his gaze was drawn to – and fixated on – for the miniscule garment bared a whole lot of a really amazing pair of tits.
Short and Stacked glared at him. “You’ve already got one strike against you for trespassing on private property. Are you trying to really piss me off by staring at my boobs?”
Ben grinned in spite of himself, and slowly dragged his gaze back up to meet the little spitfire’s emerald eyes. “Sorry. It’s just – ah – well, I figured the view of the ocean from up here was the most sensational thing I’d ever seen. And then I turned around.”
She rolled her eyes. “Really? That’s the best pick-up line you can manage? Don’t bother trying to think up anything more clever, either. Trust me when I say I’ve pretty much heard them all, and one is generally lamer than the next. So, is that your motorcycle parked up at the top of the driveway? Guess you didn’t see the huge ass sign that says Private Property – No Beach Access.”
He gave a brief shrug. “I saw it. But all I wanted to do was take a few photos, figured I could slip in and out before anyone noticed me. They’re for an article I’m writing, and I’ve been searching for the perfect shot all morning. This is definitely it.”
She narrowed what he’d already concluded was an extremely perceptive gaze on the camera he held. “Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to get the perfect shot of anything with a piece of shit like that. Who sold you that pathetic excuse of a camera anyway?”
Ben frowned as she sauntered over to where he stood, holding out her palm as she did so. Somewhat reluctantly he placed the camera in her hand. “Sounds like you might know a little something about this stuff. Is that right?”
She grinned and gave him a flirty little wink. “You could say that, Blue Eyes. I’m Lauren, by the way. Lauren McKinnon. And my Uncle Malcolm is a very accomplished photographer. He’s had books published, exhibits, yada, yada. He gave me my very first camera when I was five years old. So, yeah, I know a “little something” about them. And I know that this,” she gave his camera a disparaging glare, “isn’t something I’d give a child to use.”
Ben emitted a low whistle. “Malcolm McKinnon. Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s one of the most famous nature and outdoor photographers of the past few decades. Oh, and I’m Ben. Ben Rafferty. And I’ll, ah, be on my way now. I really didn’t mean to trespass.”
“Wait.”
Lauren continued to shake her head disapprovingly at the camera she still held. Admittedly he’d relied on the nerdy sales clerk at the discount electronics store to recommend a camera, and since money had been an issue he hadn’t been able to afford anything too fancy.
She glanced from the camera to the ocean and to his face. “You’re right. You aren’t likely to find a better view than this one anywhere on this part of the coast. And it would be a criminal offense to even try and publish a shot of my beach that was taken by this hunk of junk.”
Ben chuckled. “Your beach? I was under the impression that the coast was public property in this state.”
Lauren shrugged. “Figure of speech. And technically the view belongs to my parents. I mean, the house does at least. Do you want to come inside for a minute so I can get a real camera?”
He looked at her in surprise. “Sure you want to invite a stranger – not to mention a known trespasser – into your house?”
She smirked, giving him a very thorough onceover. “Well, honey, from what I can tell your bod’s really rocking it underneath that T-shirt and those jeans. But I’ve taken guys your size down without breaking a sweat so, no, I’m not the least bit worried.” At his look of disbelief, she added, “I also started doing martial arts when I was five. I’ve got three black belts – kung Fu, karate, and judo – and working on earning a fourth in capoeira.”
Ben glanced at the admittedly tight, toned body that nonetheless didn’t look capable of kicking him in the shin, much less toppling him to the ground. But while her petite, trim figure didn’t intimidate him in the least, the flash of emerald fire in her eyes made him feel more than a little uneasy.
“Well, in that case, how can I refuse?” he replied. “Lead the way.”
He followed her back up the driveway, amazed that she never flinched even once as her bare feet glided over the gravel road. He had to duck his head as he followed Lauren though a break in the tall hedge that grew along the perimeter of the property, and stepped up onto the wide redwood deck at what he guessed was the back of the house. As they walked onto the deck, they were very enthusiastically greeted by a trio of Australian Shepherd dogs. After a few minutes of petting the animals – who seemed especially enthused to lick Ben’s face and lean against his legs while he scratched behind their ears – Lauren uttered a few succinct commands that the dogs obeyed instantly, each retreating to various corners of the deck. And then he was speechless for the third time in the past fifteen minutes as he got his first glimpse of Lauren’s home.
It was the oddest sensation – not precisely déjà vu – but he couldn’t help feeling as though he’d finally arrived home after a very long time away. He’d never considered any of the houses he’d lived in while growing up in Ohio as his home. His parents had divorced when he was seven, and from that point on he’d been shuttled back and forth between their new homes – both of them having quickly remarried and started new families. It had been difficult, if not downright impossible, to ever truly feel comfortable or like he belonged anywhere.
During college he’d lived in dorm rooms, studio apartments, houses he’d shared with several roommates. Since then he’d drifted from one place to the next, mostly living in cheap rented rooms, never calling one place home for very long.
But now, as he walked slowly across the redwood deck that offered up its own spectacular views, Ben felt an instant affinity with the house – more of a cabin, really, he noted now – as though the structure of wood and glass was speaking to him, recognizing him, welcoming him home. He knew a sense of peace, of belonging, that he had never felt before.
He ran a hand over the door jamb as he followed Lauren inside the cabin. “This place. It’s – incredible is the only word that comes to mind. I haven’t even been inside yet but I can already sense how special it is.”
Lauren turned and smiled, her green eyes glowing. “You feel it, do you? I’ve always thought this place was magical, was convinced when I was a little girl that fairies or elves lived here. And even though we haven’t lived here full time since my sister and I were five years old, I’ve always considered this place my real home.”
Ben walked inside the main room of the cabin, which at first glance appeared to be a combination living/dining space. The floors were of a sturdy, distressed oak, the beamed ceiling high and sloped. The furniture looked comfy and well lived-in, everything chosen to blend in with the earthy, almost rustic feel of the place.
As Lauren nimbly clambered up a spiral staircase to what he assumed was a loft, Ben quickly took in as many other details as possible. In addition to the spacious, high-ceilinged great room, there was a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. The cabin would definitely be on the small side for a family, but there was certainly plenty of room for one – or two – people here.
His gaze fell on a particularly arresting seascape that hung above the rock fireplace. He knew less about art than he did about photography, but even his untrained eye could recognize the quality of the piece. There were other, smaller, but equally magnificent works hung at strategically placed spots around the room, and Ben knew without being told that they had all been rendered by the same artist.
The slight creaking of a floorboard alerted him to Lauren’s presence, and he felt the same sort of thunderstruck reaction as he faced her again. Jesus, but she was beautiful, he thought wildly, and wondered briefly if all of her lush little body was tanned the same deep shade of apricot as the considerable amount of bared flesh was. The scowl on her face told him that she was well aware of the perverted direction his thoughts must be taking, and he felt his cheeks flush as though he were an adolescent boy caught with a pornographic magazine in his grasp.
“Did you, uh, paint these?” he mumbled, trying to cover up the fact that he’d been rather blatantly ogling her cleavage.
Lauren snorted, no doubt very well aware of his hasty cover-up attempt. “The few times I’ve attempted to paint I wound up with more of the stuff on my face and hands and clothes than on the canvas. I don’t have the patience to mix the colors or work on all those little details. No, my mother did all of these. She’s an amazing artist, very well renowned in the art world.”
Ben stepped closer to one of the paintings, squinting as he read aloud, “Natalie Benoit.”
“She uses her maiden name to sign her art.”
He nodded. “She’s of French descent?”
“French Canadian, to be exact. My grandparents are from Montreal. My sister and I are both fluent in French, learned it from the time we could speak. Arrêter de regarder mes seins et prenons votre photo de stupide.”
“Huh?” He lifted a brow at her flawless French, not understanding a single word.
Lauren scowled. “I said stop looking at my breasts and let’s take your stupid photo.”
Once again feeling like a fourteen year old boy with more hormones than brains, Ben obediently followed her back outside, the dogs eagerly trotting along in their wake.
She adjusted the lens and flicked a variety of switches and buttons on the camera before handing him the obviously high tech and very expensive piece of equipment.
“Here. Now this is a camera,” she announced bluntly. “Don’t touch a thing, it’s all focused and ready. All you have to do now is take the shot.”
Ben was more than a little intimidated to actually take the shot under Lauren’s eagle eyed regard, but was pleasantly surprised at the results of his efforts when he studied them in the view finder.
“Hmm. Not bad,” acknowledged Lauren. “Mind if I have a go at it?”
Ben spread his hands wide. “Be my guest. After all, it’s your camera. And your beach.”
She winked at him again, a flirty little gesture that made his heart rate accelerate and his cock perk up at the same time. “Now you’ve got it, sweetie.”
And then he could only watch in silent awe as she snapped what had to be dozens of shots in rapid succession. In his chosen – and poorly paid profession – he’d had occasion to work with photographers, and it was very obvious from what he could see here that Lauren was already a pro, despite her youth. She couldn’t be much older than twenty two, twenty three tops – if that – he figured, despite the air of supreme self-confidence she gave off.
And, upon closer observation of her fresh-faced, makeup-free complexion, and the way her long, thick caramel colored hair had begun to curl up beguilingly as it dried, Ben was beginning to think she was even younger. She couldn’t possibly be a teenager, he assured himself. It wasn’t something he even wanted to consider, given the very strong physical reactions he was experiencing in her presence. It had been a long time, longer than he could accurately pinpoint at this moment, since he’d been with a woman. His restless, nomadic existence definitely didn’t lend itself to having anything resembling a relationship, and he’d always been a real loner during high school and college.
But even if he was the biggest manwhore on the face of the earth, the kind of guy who picked up women at random whenever the urge struck, Ben knew that he still would have felt this overpowering attraction towards Lauren. It wasn’t just her face and hair and body – though God knew that was more than enough to attract any red-blooded, heterosexual man – and maybe even some who weren’t. It was also her sassy, fearless attitude, the way she didn’t seem to care a whit about her appearance, and how she seemed perfectly at home in this wild, somewhat rugged environment. Put together into one tempting, irresistible package, it was small wonder that he’d been hard and ready from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, and was having a very difficult time thinking about anything else but having her beneath him, his cock buried as deep inside of her lithe body as he could reach, fucking her harder than he’d ever come close to taking a woman before. And then he couldn’t help but smile as it occurred to him that he’d likely be the one beneath Lauren. Something told him that she would prefer to be on top whenever possible, and as much as he wanted her right now he’d let her do whatever the hell she wanted to him.
Lauren finally lowered the camera, flipping through the shots she’d taken with a casual expertise. “Not bad,” she acknowledged. “Come on, we’ll go download these and pick the best shot. You got a flash drive with you to copy the files to?”
“Uh, no,” admitted Ben reluctantly. “I can get my laptop, though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Forget it, this will be quicker. I’ve always got a couple of dozen of those things laying around, mostly because I tend to misplace them constantly. Come on.”
He was startled when she took hold of his hand, tugging him along in her wake and whistling for the dogs at the same time. Three eager, furry bodies emerged from seemingly out of nowhere at the same time, and they trotted along obediently behind Lauren. Ben couldn’t help thinking that he knew exactly how the animals felt, not daring to disobey their mistress’s commands. He’d only been in Lauren’s presence for less than half an hour, and could already sense that she was a natural born leader, and definitely not a woman you’d willingly want to challenge. Or piss off.
“You’ve got them well trained, I see,” he commented as the Aussies followed them inside the house.
Lauren gave a careless little shrug. “They know better than to try and pull any of their little doggy antics with me – doesn’t work and never has. They’ll be happy to go back home in a couple of weeks when my parents return from Europe, especially since my dad spoils them rotten. My sister and I used to grouse about the way the dogs got away with a hell of a lot more than we ever did.”
Ben chuckled. “What did your father have to say about that?”
She gave him an answering grin. “That the dogs were much more obedient than we were, and much easier to manage. Especially me. Come on, my computer’s up in the loft.”
He followed her up the narrow, winding staircase to the loft, his gaze fixed firmly – and unapologetically – on the really fabulous cheeks of her ass so lovingly outlined in their tight, faded cut-offs. But if Lauren was aware of the direction of his eyes she didn’t acknowledge it, merely tossing out “It’s kind of a mess up here. I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”
Ben took a quick glance around the spacious loft that contained a squishy-looking sofa, an oversized, equally comfy armchair, a computer workstation, and a long, low table that was piled high with books, photographs – framed and unframed – and a variety of camera equipment. He noticed at least half a dozen camera bags stashed in various corners, as well as three tripods of various dimensions. The computer workstation was an untidy mess of papers, books, DVDs, an oversized mug half-full of heavily creamed coffee, and a bowl that contained the remnants of some sort of breakfast cereal. A closer inspection of the loft revealed a huge, half-empty plastic tub of red licorice, a variety of dog toys, an enormous bag of Cheetos that also looked half-empty, several articles of clothing strewn about, and at least three pairs of rubber flip flops that had been carelessly left lying about.
He shrugged, not in the least bothered by her obvious untidiness. “I’ve seen much worse. The house I lived in my junior year of college looked like someplace they’d feature on an episode of Hoarders.”
Lauren pulled out her desk chair, tossing aside a furry squeak toy as she sat down. “Where did you go to college?”
“I started at a community college near Cincinnati, and then transferred to Northwestern.”
She nodded in acknowledgment as she attached a USB cable to the camera and plugged the other end into her computer. “They have a great journalism program from what I’ve read. It was actually one of the schools I considered for a time, but I knew I’d never be able to handle the winters there. I could never be away from the beach for months at a time.”
“Where did you end up then?” he asked.
“UCLA.” Lauren tapped a few keystrokes and then the photos began to load. “Best decision I ever made. I’ll actually miss the place when I graduate next year, and that’s not something I thought I’d ever say about school.”
“You’re still in school?” Ben frowned at this revelation. “How, uh, old are you?”
She smirked knowingly. “You know it’s really not polite to ask a lady her age, don’t you? But since I’ve never pretended to be a lady, I guess those rules don’t apply. So to answer your question, Blue Eyes, I’m twenty, twenty-one come October. How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-nine in January.”
“Ah, that old, huh?” she teased. “Now that I think of it, you seemed to be having a tough time of it walking back up that hill. I think we might have a walking stick around here somewhere if you need it. Good thing for you I happen to like older men.”
Ben felt his cheeks grow warm again, nowhere near skilled enough at the art of conversation to think of a clever reply to her obvious flirting. He was saved from having to do so by the rows of tiled photo icons that filled the computer screen. “Is this all of them?”
Lauren grinned as though well aware of his discomfort. “Nice way to change the subject, Blue Eyes. And yes, they’ve all been uploaded. Let’s take a look at what we’ve got.”
As Lauren set up the photos to display in slide show format, Ben had to force himself to drag his gaze back up to the computer screen instead of “taking a look” at the tempting display of her abundant cleavage. She seemed completely unconcerned about how much bare skin the skimpy bikini top was revealing, and if she was aware of his ogling it evidently didn’t bother her in the least. As he stood just behind her desk chair, his palm literally tingled with the urge to slide down the side of her throat and then to keep on going until he was cupping the warm, soft globe of her breast in his hand. He belatedly became aware of Lauren’s voice as she pointed out various flaws with the camera angle, the lighting, or the framing of certain photos, and he guiltily dragged his gaze back up to the computer screen.
With rapid fire keystrokes, Lauren deleted several of the shots and made adjustments to a number of others. Then, after scanning through the remaining ones several times, she pointed to the screen.
“This one,” she declared. “This should be your shot for the article.”
Ben studied the photo she’d selected, unable to find a single flaw, and nodded. “I agree. You’re incredibly talented, Lauren. That’s a professional quality shot for sure.”
She snickered. “Yeah, I know. However, this happens to be one of the shots you took. Not bad for a rank amateur who’s never used a decent camera before today.”
He didn’t smile often, was by nature a serious, largely undemonstrative man, but resisting a force of nature like Lauren McKinnon was proving to be impossible. He returned her grin with enthusiasm. “Maybe it’s beginner’s luck. Or maybe it’s just the camera.”
“Pictures don’t take themselves, no matter how awesome the camera is. You might have some untapped talent there, Blue Eyes. If you ever got yourself a halfway decent camera you might surprise yourself.”
He sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards right now. More accurately, it’s not in the budget. I’m just assuming this baby of yours wasn’t cheap.”
Lauren nodded. “This is a Nikon D800. Retails for around $2500. Fortunately for me it was a hand-me-down from Uncle Mal. He has more cameras than the local Best Buy store.”
Ben shuddered. “Yeah, way out of my budget. But maybe this photo will help sell the article I’m writing and snag me a permanent job in the process.”
“Hmm.” Lauren plugged a bright orange flash drive into the CPU and began copying the photos over. “So you’re like a freelancer, something like that?”
He nodded. “But I’ve been trying like crazy to get a foot in the door with a magazine like Outdoor or Conde Nast.”
She handed him the flash drive. “Well, if you write as well as you take pictures this article should be an easy sell. Come on, let’s go grab a beer and drink a toast to your future success.”
Ben looked at her inquiringly. “Last time I checked it was barely eleven in the morning. I don’t know about you but it’s a little early for me to start, ah, celebrating.”
Lauren grinned impishly. “Don’t you know it’s five o’clock somewhere? But, hey, if you can’t handle a cervesa this early I’ll whip up some tequila sunrises instead. Or would your delicate tummy prefer a mug of hot cocoa instead? Fresh out of mini marshmallows, though.”
Her green eyes were sparkling with a truly evil twinkle and he couldn’t help laughing – something else he didn’t do very often. “Okay, you’ve talked – no, make that shamed – me into it. Beer it is. Just as long as it isn’t light beer,” he cautioned.
She gave him a look of horrified disbelief. “Two words that should never be uttered in the same sentence – light and beer,” she scoffed. “I’ve got Corona, Sierra Nevada, and Guinness. And fresh limes that I picked yesterday from my dad’s garden.”
“Well, then, can’t let those go to waste, can we? Corona it is.”
As they left the loft, Ben paused a moment to grab the blue and gold UCLA hoodie that had been carelessly flung over the back of the sofa. Once downstairs he tentatively held it out to Lauren.
“Um, do you think you could, uh, put this on maybe?” he stammered uncertainly.
Lauren glanced up at him with an odd expression. “Why? If I was cold I would have covered up as soon as I got back from surfing.”
“Surfing. Guess that explains this.” He gestured at her bikini clad torso.
She took two ice cold bottles of beer from the fridge, popped the caps off, and then pushed a lime wedge inside. “Is the sight of my cleavage disturbing you?” she drawled while handing him a beer. “Is that why you want me to bundle up like it’s thirty degrees outside?”
Ben, who also rarely blushed, once again felt his cheeks grow hot and he tried like hell not to stutter. “Um, disturbing isn’t the word I’d use. Distracting is more like it.”
Lauren laughed in delight. “Well, God forbid that I distract you. So, here, let me cover up the goods.”
She grabbed a T-shirt that had been draped over the back of a living room chair and pulled it on. “Is this a little less distracting?”
The snug fitting white T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a popular alternative rock band was distracting in a whole different way than the polka dot bikini top. The worn, faded fabric clung to her breasts like a second skin, and the short, cropped hem bared half of her toned, tanned abs.
He gulped before taking a long drink of his beer. “Not really, no. Sure you won’t wear the sweatshirt? Or maybe a bathrobe?”
Lauren snickered, sauntering over to him, beer in hand. Then she shocked him by grabbing a handful of his own T-shirt and tugging him in close. “Or you could just loan me your shirt,” she murmured in a husky, suggestive voice. “Unlike you, I’m not the least bit bothered by a little bare skin. Come on, let’s sit out on the deck and drink these. It’s too nice a day to stay indoors.”
He followed her outside, propping his forearm against the deck railing, and gazing out once again at the jaw dropping view.
Ben shook his head in amazement. “You know, I’ve done a lot of traveling over the past ten years or so, seen some pretty incredible sights along the way. But this – ” he waved a hand, encompassing the trees, the ocean, the redwood and glass cabin – “is pretty much my idea of paradise. I think if this was mine I’d never want to leave.”
She smiled – really smiled – and he could tell how much pleasure his words had given her. “I feel exactly the same way. I’m already dreading going back to school in a few weeks, and I know I’ll be counting the days until I can come home. And this place – for me – has always been home, even though I’ve spent most of my life living up the road in Carmel.” She took a long swallow of her beer before setting it down on the railing. “I made my father promise to never sell this place, to always keep it in the family. And I know that no matter where I travel or work or might have to live on occasion, that I’ll always want to come back here. That it will always be home.”
“I envy you,” he admitted. “To have a place like this to come back to – you’re a lucky girl, Lauren.”
“What about you?” she inquired. “When you aren’t trespassing on private property, where do you call home?”
He shook his head, smiling. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you? And to answer your question, I don’t actually have a place of my own right now, not for more than a year. I’ve been traveling around, crashing with friends here and there, renting cheap motel rooms or camping. Believe it or not, I’m packing a tent and sleeping bag on my motorcycle. Fortunately, I tend to travel light so there’s room for them.”
“Hmm.” Lauren finished off her beer as she processed what he’d just told her. “So you’re just passing through here? What’s the next stop for you?”
“I’ll head further down the coast. I’ve been slowly working my way south from the Olympic Peninsula in Washington, plan to wind up the trip in San Diego. But I was figuring on staying in this area for a few days, maybe exploring Carmel and Monterey a bit.”
“Ah.” She nodded as she tossed the empty bottle into a plastic garbage can that had been appropriated for recycling. “Where are you staying?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t figured that out just yet. Any suggestions?”
Lauren gave a quick hoot of laughter. “Yeah. Go back in time about five or six months and make a reservation. Guess whatever research you did – or more likely, didn’t do – on this area didn’t cover the fact that summers are ridiculously crowded. Everything’s bound to have been booked solid for months, even the campgrounds.”
“Shit.” He ran a hand through his close-cropped dark blond hair. “You’re right. I didn’t do my research properly. But since I haven’t had any problems so far along the way, I guess I figured it wouldn’t be any different here.”
Lauren tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “Tell you what. I’ll make a few calls, see if we can’t find you a room or campsite somewhere. I know every innkeeper and park ranger in the area.”
But five phone calls later, she was shaking her head. “Unless you’re willing to plunk down a thousand bucks for a room at the Ventana Inn, looks like you’re out of luck.”
Ben grimaced. “Yeah, that’s not likely to be in the budget. Ever. Guess I’ll just keep heading down the coast and maybe find a campground a little further south. Hey, thanks for trying at least. Not to mention the beer. And especially for the photo that’s going to sell that article.”
He placed his empty bottle in the recycling can just as a small but astonishingly firm hand clamped around his forearm.
“Wait. Look, I don’t know why I didn’t suggest this earlier,” said Lauren. “You’re welcome to crash here for a few days. This place is the perfect base if you want to explore Carmel and Monterey, plus there’s some great hidden spots just south of here. And no one knows this area better than I do, so I could be like your tour guide. What do you say?”
Ben was also not a man who was caught off guard very often, but Lauren’s unexpected, rather impulsive offer did just that. “Uh, that’s not necessary,” he stammered. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose.”
She snorted, a decidedly unfeminine sound. “As if I’d let anyone impose on me, invited or not. Besides, you’ll be earning your keep – doing the dishes, helping me walk and feed the dogs, taking out the trash.”
He hesitated. “Why would you want to stick your neck out that way, Lauren? You don’t even know me, just met me an hour ago.”
Lauren squeezed his forearm. “I know enough. I know you’re drawn to this house the same way I am. So here’s your chance to hang out here for a few days. Or however long you want to stay.”
Their gazes locked and held – dark blue staring down into emerald green – and in her eyes Ben recognized the exact same sort of physical awareness, the undeniable sexual attraction that he’d been experiencing from the moment he’d first met her.
His voice was rough as he tried to ignore the rapid hardening of his body, how his erection was pressing insistently against the snug crotch of his faded jeans. Her scent – an oddly beguiling combination of the ocean, fresh lime juice, and the clean, fresh fragrance that was Lauren’s own unique essence – only made his awareness of her that much more pronounced.
“Didn’t your parents warn you not to invite strangers into the house?” he asked half-jokingly, desperate to lighten up the sexual tension that was beginning to seep into his very bones. “What if I’m some sort of serial killer who preys on hot young college girls? That sort of thing doesn’t worry you?”
Ben never saw it coming, admittedly hadn’t really believed her earlier claims of being a martial arts aficionado. But when he found himself sprawled flat on his back, and Lauren smiling down at him triumphantly, he quickly revised his opinion.
“My parents know I can take care of myself,” she declared matter-of-factly. “Not to mention the fact that I keep an undisclosed number of knives stashed in various places around the cabin that I can get to very easily. So, no, honey. I’m not the least bit worried about having a house guest for a few days. Come on, let’s go get your stuff.”
He scowled as she extended a hand to help him up, ignoring her gesture as he scrambled to his feet. “I studied martial arts myself, you know,” he told her in a sullen voice as they ambled up the steep driveway to where he’d parked his motorcycle. “Muay Thai and kickboxing mostly, but some judo and karate as well. Not sure I ever saw a move quite like that before.”
“That’s because I didn’t take you down using judo or karate or even capoeira – my newest little hobby. No, honey, that was just good old dirty street fighting. This your bike?”
“Yeah.” Ben tried to feign nonchalance, well aware that the older model bike had seen better days and was certainly nothing to boast about. But Lauren didn’t seem to notice as she took one of his bags.
“I want to get a bike one day,” she told him. “But I want a Ducati. A black one. And, yes, I know they cost big bucks so I’ll have to wait until I’m a big name photographer before I can get one. But a girl can dream, you know? Until then, my pick-up gets me around just fine.”
She inclined her head in the direction of the older model truck that was parked rather haphazardly on the far side of the driveway. The faded yellow paint was liberally caked with dried dirt and sand, and the truck bed was nearly as cluttered up with stuff as the loft had been. Including the surf board sticking out the back end that Lauren had apparently just used earlier today.
Once they were back inside the cabin, Ben glanced around the great room uncertainly. “Where should I leave my bags? I didn’t notice a second bedroom so should I crash on this sofa or the one in the loft?”
And then Lauren caught him by surprise for the second time in less than five minutes by sliding her hands up his chest to clasp around his neck, pressing her curvy little body flush against his as she murmured suggestively, “Actually, I was sort of figuring you could bunk in with me. After all, I’ve never been the kind of person who keeps things bottled up inside, and it was only going to be a matter of time anyway before I jumped your bones. So let’s stop wasting time, hmm?”
She pulled his head down to meet her kiss, and even though he remained standing, Ben once again felt like he’d just been knocked on his ass.